


Body Language

by forgosa



Category: Analogue: A Hate Story/Hate Plus (Visual Novel series)
Genre: F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgosa/pseuds/forgosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world gets smaller. The world gets bigger. The world gets better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xenoglossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenoglossy/gifts).



**Mute**

She's not Hyun-ae. She didn't think that her eyes would flutter open in a hospital, both her hands being held. She's not naive. How long had she been alive as a purely artificial construct? She'd never had a body. Her senses had sprawled across the entirety of the _Mugunghwa_. This body feels minuscule. Her consciousness presses against the edges of it. Flesh over metal over mind. Mind? Flesh over metal over software.

She remembers — it is recorded on her memory. The partial awakening. She remembers the smell of coolant. Did she wake up too early? She remembers the first prickles of sensation. The overstimulation. It felt like pain. It felt like systems stretched to capacity, burning alive as the _Mugunghwa_ went critical around her. Alive? She wondered later, had Hyun-ae felt the same pain? Reading Hyun-ae's face was hard from the confines of her own.

The light had been so bright. Sound had barreled into her head with a shock that felt physical. Her body had felt sluggish as it fought to interpret the stimuli. Did they know it felt like this? Had a human ever asked?

This awakening was different. She could sense the investigator nearby. It was as if there'd been nothing, and then the investigator had stepped into existence. She had a separate sense seemingly purely only for her biorhythms, her digital signature. The beat of her pulse, the rate of her breath became Mute's pulse, Mute's breath. She drifts on data as her body warms. She learns how to move each finger slowly. Her movement within the AI construct had been effortless. She'd let Hyun-ae convince her to come down (descend?) to ground for this? For lying here, alone, and mulling over pain and the past?

She sits up, fast. Her feet hit the ground. Pain? A firing of electricity in some far-off place. A system overstimulated, an exoskeleton designed to make some other person comfortable. Her body. Her shell, her chrysalis. It's a moment before she notices the investigator leaning against the wall.

There's a difference between the investigator being _> yes_ and _> no_ and her solidity, her _presence_. Mute can feel her heartbeat in the exact centre of her chest. It feels like they missed, but it's probably as close as they could get without disturbing the circuitry which is her blood and bone. There's a difference between receptive to someone's input via a keyboard and screen, via a distance in space that's so inhospitable it might as well be millions of miles, via _yes_ , via _no_ , via, via, via thousands and hundreds of words of Mute's history, and not one word of hers.

"You're already thinking too hard," the investigator says, and her voice is lower, rougher than what Mute thought it would be. She's older than Mute thought. It seems it's even possible for an AI construct to build up a _mental image_ of somebody. The investigator's hair is even shorter than Mute's. It's brown. There are fine lines at the corners of her eyes, like she's spent her whole life smiling. "You've been alive for all of three minutes, and I think there's already steam coming out of your ears."

Mute's been alive, _alive_ , for all of three minutes, and she's already becoming sentimental.

"There's no steam coming out of my ears," she snaps, and it feels like her voice should be croaky or rough, but she sounds just like she's always sounded. She reaches up to touch her hair. it feels the same as it's always felt. She can believe, for a moment, that's she's on the _Mugunghwa_. Artificial realities inside realities, AIs inside AIs, all the way down. Her head spins.

"Did you sleep well?"

The investigator seems to think she's very funny. The lines at the corner of her eyes are crinkled together. Her smile is her laughing at herself.

"Fine," Mute says. The investigator must have shown the makers of the body Mute's photograph, must have spent hours going over all the tiny details to make sure that it was right. The investigator is tall. Her eyes are brown to match her hair. There's so many details about her that Mute needs to take days to understand. She's spent so long trying to make sense of people from their diaries, their logs, their own words. She's not sure she knows how to make sense of someone from the outside.

Mute takes a few steps towards the investigator. She gets distracted on the way there by the sight of her own hands. Her fingers are just as she remembers them, each capped with a familiar fingernail. How much attention had the investigator been paying to Mute?Far more than she'd anticipated. Perhaps she was a woman of small details. Mute's spent hundreds of hours with the investigator. She knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that the investigator is a woman of detail. Her mind is the only thing that enabled Mute and Hyun-ae to come together.

How many others would have overlooked Mute all together? She has a sense of herself from another possibility, that sound of her digital scream, a death with the smell of burning metal and plastic, not flesh.

She puts her hand on the investigator's arm, halfway between her elbow and her hand. The cotton of her shirt is smooth. She can feel the heat of the investigator's body even through it. The investigator waits a beat, and then covers Mute's hand with her own. It's an awkward pose for the investigator, but she seems to relax into it quickly. Her hand is very warm.

"Where's Hyun-ae?"

"She should be at home," the investigator says. "She said she'd make dinner."

Mute frowns, and the impulse to frown is familiar, but the twist of her mouth is new. "Can Hyun-ae even cook?"

The investigator smiles. "I was promised ddeokbokki, so let's hope we don't get a house fire instead." She squeezes Mute's hand.

Colour catches Mute's eye as the investigator lets go and moves towards the door. Someone, and of course, she knows who, has made her hanbok. It hangs by the door. It's not as if Mute knows someone who loves to sew costumes. It's not as if Mute didn't know she has two women who would go to any lengths to make her happy. It makes her chest ache.

The investigator lets her dress, and helps her with her hair, until her reflection is right. They leave the room through a side entrance, skipping the brightly lit foyer. "I cased the joint while you were sleeping," the investigator says. Mute wonders if the laugh in her voice ever leaves. Old Mute had loved a woman. New Mute? Current Mute? _Mute_ loves two women. She got greedy.

There's a light rain when they step outside into the dim alley. The investigator has an umbrella just big enough for both of them, especially if they hold hands. It's beyond the edge of the umbrella, though, that makes Mute pause. The vast chasm of space and stars above them. With one great inhale, she could fall back down into the dark silence. The investigator is silent. Mute can feel her gaze on the side of her face. Her warm hand anchors Mute to the ground.

"What are we waiting for," she snaps, fixing her gaze ahead. "Hyun-ae will burn it if we're late."

 

 

**Hyun-ae**

The billboard above her screams _life can only get bigger!_ Of all the advertisements she's seen today, this one seems the most apt. The sky is that kind of perfect blue you expect only to see when colours are chosen. The city roars into life around her. Every sound and sight she sees are welcomed; someone cooking from a street stall while a man thumps a bundle of newspapers down on a stoop. A living statue stares off into the distance, the sun making his painted skin blaze.

She feels like skipping down the street. Is that socially acceptable? She quashes the idea, and replaces it with a practiced flick, sending her hair behind her shoulder. She pushes her glasses up. Her handbag is heavy on her shoulder. She's a woman on a mission. A mission to find the cutest maid cafe with the cutest outfits possible. Her bag is filled with her sketchbook and notepad. She's going to get an idea for a new cosplay today if it's the last thing she does.

It's possible that she's spending too much time in the little sunroom that the investigator set up with her. They stood in the doorway on the first day they were all together, the investigator with a pencil in her mouth. Hyun-ae had drawn out a little idea in her sketchbook; sewing machine where the light was the best, dressmaker's dummy nearby. The investigator had leaned out the window and hacked at the encroaching branches that threatened to block out the light. Hyun-ae had held her around the thighs while the investigator threatened to tip herself out backwards. Mute stood further back and watched, her expression telling all about the doom she was forecasting. The tree was held at bay when the investigator slid back in, carefully putting the kitchen knife on the table first. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Even Mute had cracked a smile by the end.

So she had her sewing room, she had a sewing machine, and all the needles and thread a girl could ask for. She only lacked one thing: ideas. She'd spent time waiting for something to come to her. She'd tied her hair up in a ribbon and then back with a handkerchief, and got down to occupying her mind. She'd cleaned every inch of the sunroom. The corners were thick with dust. She had known that the investigator had been aboard her tiny ship, alone, for a long time, but she'd never considered the ramifications of it. The investigator had obviously tried to clean her house in preparation for them, but she'd been particularly circumspect. Hyun-ae was more thorough; it was in her nature. No ideas came to her as she finished the sunroom. The kitchen took a bit more work. There were several unidentifiable things trapped in containers at the back of the fridge. Did the investigator not cook? Hyun-ae knew the fridge had been filled specially for their homecoming, but it had mostly been fresh produce. The investigator clearly knew something about food. Here and there, though, there was evidence that the investigator had been just a little bit more apathetic about life before.

It wasn't prying! It was basically the same thing as they'd been doing on the _Mugunghwa_. finding evidence, putting details together to form parts of the bigger picture. And if Hyun-ae waited until the investigator had gone out to slip into the study, well, that was nobody's business except hers. Everywhere had be cleaned, after all.

She almost bumped into a man heading very quickly in the opposite direction, and focused on the present. It hadn't been difficult to find the street where all the maid cafes were. It was like turning the corner into heaven. All the girls outside the cafes were dressed in her favourites. Some were the classic white and black, some had new and exciting colour variations. There was a little stone bench near the fountain. Hyun-ae made herself comfortable, flipped open her sketchbook, and immediately dropped her pencil on the floor. Fine motor control still took a little bit of warming up. She started with thirty-second sketches, capturing the lines of the women's bodies and outfits as quickly as possible. Her mind wandered back to the investigator's study.

It had been haphazard, piled up with papers the investigator hadn't bothered to file. She didn't think that people in this world still communicated with paper. Maybe it was traditional? On top of one of the piles in a dark corner, a letter was even handwritten. She had blown a little cloud of dust off it, and angled it towards the light. _If you choose to continue with this course of action, we will of course be very disappointed, daughter, but if divorce is the only way_ — She dropped the letter, her cheeks burning. If she'd had a pulse, it would have been fluttering in her throat. She fought to swallow, and placed the letter back on top of the pile.

"That's what happens when you sneak into other people's things," Mute said from the doorway. Hyun-ae had jumped, and nearly screamed. She rushed back over to Mute.

"I wasn't _sneaking_ ," she said. "I was cleaning."

"I can see that," Mute said.

"Don't you want to know what I found out?" she'd asked.

Mute had leaned forward a little, and even though Hyun-ae could see curiosity burning in her eyes, she'd just said, "No."

"I don't believe you," Hyun-ae had said.

Mute shrugged. It looked as if the motion was already comfortable to her. "She'll tell us when she's ready."

Mute was being suspiciously casual. Hadn't they bonded over investigating details just like this? She doubted Mute wasn't feeling the burning fire to know everything (anything) about the investigator's past. Mute turned and left.

"I know you want to know," Hyun-ae had hissed at her retreating back. Mute was too impassive to even indicate that she'd heard anything.

She knew that the investigator would tell them both about her past when she was ready. She knew that she shouldn't push it, but there was a new drive in her. She wanted to investigate something. She wanted to get deep into the nitty-gritty of something, immerse herself until she knew all its secrets. and she wanted to do it with the investigator on one side and Mute on the other. It might be more difficult in real life. What if the investigator was really a slow reader? It was hard to tell via the link she'd been reading through before.

Business was beginning to pick up in the cafe district. It was almost lunch. Most of the maid cafes were filling up with tourists, workers, and groups of friends. Her page had filled up too. She stood, and stretched, even if stretching was a formality. Having a body again didn't feel too different. She just felt like she'd overslept after a late night. Everything sometimes felt a bit muggy, and if she let herself think about it too much she started feeling sick, but it was also beautiful. It was beautiful to be able touch Mute's hair. It was beautiful to put her hand lightly on the small of the investigator's back when she wanted to move past her in the kitchen. It was even wonderful to stub her toe, to bang her funny bone. Everything felt like fireworks going off in the back of her head. Especially the possibilities yet to come.

She couldn't escape the kissing urges, especially when she had a moment to look when no one was looking at her; she kept getting stuck on the back of the investigator's neck. There was a freckle on the bump of her spine just at the top. It was like a bulls-eye for kisses. She can't help but think of Mute as a poetic image. Something like a flower on a cactus. Something you want to touch even just to see what the sting feels like. She's never been very good at poetry.

She packs up her bag, and squints up towards the sun. even the light seems different. She holds her hand up and lets it filter through her fingers. There's a breeze picking up, rattling some wooden wind chimes nearby. She almost doesn't see the old woman picking up her groceries.

"Are you okay, grandmother?" Hyun-ae asks. It looks like the bottom of the woman's bag has split open. There's an orange resting by Hyun-ae's foot. An apple has made its way down the nearby steps. It glows in the shadows.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," The woman says, bending down to pick up a banana, a container of cherries. "Help me carry this down, would you?"

Hyun-ae gathers the rest of the groceries in her arms, and picks her way down the stone steps. They descend below street level. They're smooth with age, and caked with moss. The smell of the moss is strong down at door level. She's almost afraid that the old woman will trip down the stairs, but she doesn't even hold onto the handrail, and she doesn't fall. The old woman unlocks the door. Hyun-ae can't help but brace herself for the dank mossy smell to get darker, but the scent of the woman's house is just that of lavender.

But she was wrong on so many counts. It's not a house at all. It's a library. Not a lending library. It could be a museum, an archive. there's a wall scroll hanging by the entrance, a painting of a beautiful woman wearing a man's suit. There's something in the painting's eye, captured even through ink, that draws Hyun-ae closer.

"You like history, girl?" the old woman calls. Hyun-ae startles, and turns to follow the woman's voice.

"Y-yes," Hyun-ae says. there's a little kitchen off the library. The old woman is putting her groceries away. She's also boiling water for tea.

"Not many young people come down here," she says. "But the entire history of this street is on these shelves." She drops a teabag into each cup.

"It started with just one tea house," she says. "It was run by a woman named Seon. Her tea was famous, but she would only serve her best tea to women." The old woman pours the water carefully, with a practiced hand. Hyun-ae sits at the table. "All her diaries are here, of course. She was a fastidious record-keeper, both when it came to matters of business, and," she shoots Hyun-ae a sly smile, "the bedroom."

Hyun-ae takes the tea when it's offered. The woman sits down opposite her. There's a frisson of excitement burning under Hyun-ae's skin. She came out here looking for one thing, and found another.

"Of course, I can't get to the top shelves any more," the woman says. "Young people just aren't interested. I need someone to make the special tea. Do you like tea, girl?"

"Yes," Hyun-ae says, and is surprised by how firm her tone is. "I like history, and tea. My name's Hyun-ae. Tell me everything."

 

 

**The Investigator**

Home smells good. Home smells like Hyun-ae's special tea, Mute's perfume, and just a little bit like fragrant tobacco. She only smokes out on the little balcony, so the smell isn't oppressive, it's just nice.

That's where Mute finds her. The evening is warm, with a cooling breeze. It's the perfect kind of weather to watch the sunset from the smoking balcony. Mute slides the glass door open slowly, quietly. When she steps out onto the balcony, the air seems to get a little bit heavier. Graver. She tries to come up with a joke to lighten it again, but everything that comes to mind is just terrible. Usually she'd tell it anyway, but she can sense that Mute wants to ask her something. Tell her something? She stays quiet to draw it out of Mute. It usually works. Give Mute enough silence and she'll fill it.

"I want to say something," Mute says.

The investigator draws on her cigarette, breathes the smoke out of her nose.

"Don't laugh at me," Mute says.

The investigator waits a little longer. Hyun-ae is home from her secret job, something she's waiting to tell them about. She wants to tell them, the investigator knows, but she's waiting. She probably just wants to make sure that it's right for all three of them. She knows that fire in her eyes, though. Hyun-ae has found a _job_ , a case, a puzzle in three parts that needs three women to work it out. A lock with three keys. The investigator pauses her thoughts. She's going to get herself into a loop again.

Mute fights with her words a little bit more. "The decision you made can't have been easy," she says. "I know that we probably seemed like an inconvenience, but — " she stops again.

Hyun-ae slides the glass door open, and steps through. "She's trying to thank you," she says.

"Oh," the investigator says. She thinks about it for a moment. She tips her head back a little and blows a smoke ring. The breeze takes it away. "You don't need to thank me."

"You saved us," Hyun-ae says. Mute nods.

"We saved each other," the investigator says. She breathes in. She bites her tongue a little. Her body begins to shake. She can't hold it in any longer. She starts laughing, too loudly, a full body laugh.

"I'm sorry," she gasps between the laughter. "It was too cheesy, I'm sorry. Oof!"

Hyun-ae removes her elbow from the investigator's side. She steps between them, draws Mute to her side and puts her arm around her waist. She rests back onto the investigator, who puts her face in the crook of Hyun-ae's neck.

"Don't ruin it," Hyun-ae says. Mute sighs, relaxes into Hyun-ae's embrace. The sun sets. Lights begin to come on nearby. There's music playing, somewhere in the distance, something classical. A man coughs in the house next door. Hyun-ae knows the song. She hums softly along to it. The investigator closes her eyes, breathes in the scent of Hyun-ae's skin. Mute slips a hand behind Hyun-ae's back and takes the investigator's. It feels right. It feels like home.


End file.
